The Recall Trials
Chapter 27: Trust No Trigger

Chapter 27: Trust No Trigger

A loud bang on the door jerked me out of my thoughts.

The masked guards barged in, just like always.

No words, just a hand signal. Time to move.

The hallway was packed with contestants again.. I scanned the line, searching for Zaara, but I couldn’t find her. Too many people.

The walk was long, longer than usual. We turned corners I didn’t recognize, passed huge iron doors and flickering lights, until finally, the space opened up.

And my breath caught.

It was massive.

Like a damn stadium. No...bigger.

So. Damn. Huge.

The floor was slick and white, glowing under overhead lights that looked like miniature suns. At the center was the biggest table I’d ever seen in my life. Round, long, impossibly wide. It looked like something built for giants or a war council out of some futuristic dystopia.

"Sooooo hugeeeee..." someone behind me whispered.

Surrounding it were chairs. So many. Almost a hundred. Ninety-five to be exact....because that’s how many of us were left.

We weren’t even told to move, but instinctively we stopped just inside the entrance, all staring at that monster of a table.

The lights in the ceiling dimmed.

Then, suddenly a single spotlight came on.

And it hit the table’s center.

The rest of the arena fell into shadow. The only thing we could see clearly was that giant table, lit up like it was about to decide our fate.

I stood there, blinking hard. My palms were already sweating. My head pounding. Somewhere to my right, I heard Nomi’s voice.

"Hi, Vincent."

"Huh? Oh. Hey," I said, rubbing the back of my neck.

She smiled. "Don’t get eliminated in this round, okay?"

"I hope not," I muttered.

Before I could say anything else, I felt it.

A stare.

I turned, and there she was....Zaara.

She was standing on the far end of the group, with her arms crossed. Then her eyes flicked to mine, and she rolled them.

"Welcome to the next game, contestants."

Everyone froze.

"In this round, each of you will take a seat at the table. This table has exactly 95 chairs, corresponding to the number of remaining players."

"Five contestants will be eliminated today."

My stomach dropped.

Five?

Gasps rippled through the group. A few people started whispering. My jaw locked as I looked across the sea of faces.

I caught Theo’s smirk. Him and his little gang, already grinning like they were on some damn field trip. His hands were in his pockets, cocky as hell. Like he already knew he wasn’t one of the five.

I glanced at Carter. He was just staring ahead with a sad look on his face..

We slowly began to move again, one by one, taking our seats around the massive circle.

Zaara sat down directly across from me.

As I sat, I braced my hands on the table. The surface was cool against my skin. It was very smooth.

Now, what would we have to do this time... to survive?

The silence was thick..

Then

Clack.

The doors opened again.

And this time, only one person stepped in.

He was dressed in a sleek black tailored suit.. His gloves were leather. His shoes didn’t make a sound as he walked. But what struck me most, what made my chest seize, was the mask.

It wasn’t like the ones the guards wore. No. This one was a shiny silvery mask, the kind you’d see in nightmares or on the cover of a high-fashion horror magazine..No eye holes.

Just a dead, frozen face with a thin smile carved into it.

In his gloved hands... was a polished silver serving plate with a lid on top, covering whatever lay beneath. Just like those ones fancy chefs use in five-star restaurants, and in those dramatic TV shows when they were about to unveil some exotic meal.

All eyes followed the tray like it held a live bomb.

He walked straight to the center of the massive circular table, placed it down, and stood still. Waiting.

Then the voice returned. That same smooth, cold voice.

"This game..." it said slowly, "is about instinct. About how much you trust yourself. And... how lucky you really are when everything is on the line."

No one spoke.

Someone across from me was whispering a prayer under their breath. Another person shook their leg so hard the entire chair vibrated.

"Now," the voice continued, "we present to you... your fate."

The masked man lifted the silver lid.

A collective gasp swept across the table.

Oh my God.

It was a gun.

But not just any gun.

It was a sleek, metallic revolver. Shiny.. The kind of weapon you’d see in some old mafia film. You could see the bullets inside the rotating chamber five of them.

The man didn’t flinch. He simply placed the gun in the dead center of the table, then stepped back into the shadows.

Five chambers. Five bullets. One shot at a time.

Russian roulette.

Some girl across the table whispered, "Oh my God."

But no one moved.

The voice continued:

"This is Turning the Pistol. The rules are simple. The gun will spin around the table. When it stops in front of you... you pick up the gun, spin the chamber, point it at your head. And pull the trigger."

"You have a one-in-six chance of being eliminated. If the chamber is empty, you move on. If it fires..."

Silence.

We all knew what that meant.

Elimination.

The voice added:

"And if anyone refuses to play, or tries to leave their seat..."

The words weren’t even finished before it happened.

Two people shot up from their chairs at once. A guy and a girl both shaking.

"We’re not doing this!" the guy yelled. "This is INSANE!"

The girl shook her head furiously. "This isn’t a game. This is suicide. We’re leaving."

Everything went still.

Then it happened.

BANG.

A single, silenced shot rang out.

Then another.

The sound wasn’t loud this time. Just two dull cracks, like a heavy book slamming shut.

And then.....they both dropped.

No warning.

Blood sprayed across the floor, bright red against the white tiles.